“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

-A.A Milne

We had a number of practical issues to sort out in the UK which formed a large part of the gap we’ve had since we returned before we set off cycling again. We hoped that these wouldn’t take long, and optimistically thought we’d be cycling through central America in the winter. But the weeks dragged on and ruled that out. Then Richard injured his knee, rendering him next to useless as far as cycling was concerned. The injury was finally diagnosed as torn ligament/cartilage, and a ban on cycling issued. Not one to exercise if I don’t have to, I joined him in inertia. Things took endless months longer, and although it was frustrating it did afford Richard time to rehab, while I just ate.

With most of our gear in disrepair from the previous two years of cycling, there was much to replace. I got some nice new cycling kit, having learnt the hard way that you buy cheap you pay twice, and we bought some replacement camping gear with a view to staying warmer than we had been in France last spring.

With the need now for a gentle re-start, we tentatively decided to cycle across Europe’s flat lands in the north. When it came down to it, having been waiting around for months, everything fell into place very quickly at the last minute, so we took a holiday to wait for warmer camping weather in northern Europe. An all-inclusive holiday in Egypt, preceeded by months of laziness, was in hindsight a terrible idea. By the time we set off, most of my new clothes don’t really fit.

In addition to the other upgrades, I am now on my fifth saddle, never really having found a comfortable one since my trusty old Brooks met its destruction. When I settle on a very fancy French-made leather saddle, I can see Richard rolling his eyes and biting his tongue. When it arrives the instructions state that it has a weight limit which I exceed, so our relationship is not off to a good start.

I feel very differently this time than I did when we did the same thing in 2022. It is harder to say goodbye, and feels like I am leaving more behind, even though on the surface we have less now to leave.

We arrive in Calais for the third time intending to cycle across Europe. It is windy, we stay at the same campsite and it rains just as it did three years ago when we previously set off. Part of my trepidation is perhaps that the last time we were camping across France I hated it. It was the only extended period of time that I had absolute doubts about what we were doing and an antipathy for this way of life set in. I hope that state was more circumstantial than permanent, but I’m not certain and that worry adds to the anxiety about leaving this time.

We’ve set ourselves a first rest day in Antwerp, Belgium, as we have one key piece of kit that we struggled to get, but an outdoor shop in that city has kindly tried to order in for us.

We have a torrid first few days as we make our way north along the North Sea coast to and through Belgium. The wind against us is brutal, and I cannot believe that of all the things we’ve neglected it’s that we didn’t even think about this. Both our backsides are now soft again from not cycling, and by the third day it’s agony to sit down anywhere, let alone on a saddle. I am stuffed into my too-small cycling shorts and worried I’m going to get a hernia. On our first steep railway bridge, a fast road cyclist passes me and looks back with concern as I wheeze and swear my way along. All of this is self inflicted of course, and all of it should get better once we’re over an initial few weeks of pain.

A playlist for the ride: